


what's left unsaid

by dollydoodledoo



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, M/M, Post-Chairman Election Arc, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sadness, and a kinda happy beginning idk, but only the end, i cannot write a kiss scene to save my life, killlua being sad and kinda gay, okay more than kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollydoodledoo/pseuds/dollydoodledoo
Summary: Killua has a lot of regrets but Gon isn't one of them.





	what's left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at kinda character study-ish fic?? man idk. It’s basically just some self-indulgent Killua nonsense.

Killua never liked to label things. Words were too black and white when the world was all grey. Besides, nothing in his life seemed to fall under the definition of any word. His thoughts, his relations, his emotions especially, were ambiguous and fickle. His brother told him it was a good thing, that he should never be attached to anything-- even himself. Maybe there were moments when Killua desired something that made him happy, sad, angry-- _something_ , at least. But those were short, rare moments.

Then he meets Gon, optimistic and carefree, who stirs something new in Killua. Gon surprised him in a way the world had failed to. Suddenly, Killua's emotions are big and loud and demanding. For the first time in his life, he wishes he had the words to describe them.

 

_Enjoyment._

 

The word is first pitched by Gon, as they sit by a fire on Whale Island. They were giddy; brimming with happiness, newfound power, and a feeling like they can take on the world. Enjoyment was a good word to describe the feeling passing between the both of them. To describe the sense of ease he felt with Gon by his side and the fire at his back. And Killua settles on the word, for there is no promise in it. He was not quite ready to make promises yet. Neither of them was. So, for the time being, “enjoyment” was enough.

 

_Fondness._

 

That word is much too soft and touchy-feely, Killua thinks. But it was perfect. Sudden smiles that find their way onto Killua’s face when Gon spoke. The glances, small secrets passing between them in silence. Every new power, every new experience, every new feeling. Killua is fond of Gon, but not in a _soft_ way. It's a fondness that clenches around his heart and rattles in his lungs. It's thrilling in every way that's it's beautiful and Killua is addicted to the feeling of it-- the feeling of Gon.

“You’re my best friend, Killua!” Gon proclaims loudly, unabashedly. _There is never fear in his eyes_ , Killua notes. Gon’s eyes are _always_ bright (perhaps a little too bright, a little too excited by danger). Killua blushes and looks away because the swelling happiness inside him is unfamiliar. He wants to welcome it but he doesn't know how.

Months later, Killua won't see his own hands, blackened and mauled by Nen, instead he’ll see the hands that carefully bandage his wounds. They are gentle, so unlike the fist that wounded him in the first place. Killua will look up to see Gon’s eyes boring into him, with something too close to regret in them.

_No. It’s fine. Don’t be stupid. Don’t look like that._

Neither of will them say anything.

 

_Fear._

 

It is only in retrospect that Killua accepts this word. Fear is not something he ever wanted to associate with Gon. Because Killua could never be scared of Gon, never.

Until he is. Until Killua is terrified of sending his friend to a place where he cannot reach him. Until he's scared of what Gon will become, has already become. And so, Killua tiptoes around him, as if eggshells are under his feet. He says nothing, trying desperately not to destroy what they have. They have never needed words but Gon has always _known_. He should _know_.

He doesn't. Killua is not shocked when he sees the murderous intent in Gon’s eyes as he faces Morel (except it was not Morel that Gon saw). Perhaps he should've been.

_Was it wrong to see someone's capacity for destruction and realize you'd seen it all along?_

Gon’s voice is the same voice Killua has always known as he apologizes for nearly killing the older man. It is the same voice, Killua tells himself, trying to assuage the unease inside him.

Killua was afraid. Afraid that they’d fall apart. Afraid that, this time, everything wouldn’t turn out alright.

 

_Pain._

 

Killua knew pain. Knew the sting of a whip as well as he knew himself. And that’s why it is the only accurate way to describe the feeling of Gon walking away from him, telling him to go away, to mind his own business. He’s not angry, and a part of him has already forgiven Gon for it. But there is pain. And he knows there will be more pain to follow.

_Light that is blinding and terrible, singeing flesh from bones._

_A heart reluctantly restarting._

_The half-hearted apology of a boy who does not truly understand what he did._

_The half-hearted dismissal of a boy who is not ready to forgive._

_Smiles that don't quite reach either of their eyes._

Killua knew pain. Knew it as well as he knew himself.

 

_Longing._

 

It was, perhaps, not longing for Gon to be by his side. Or for them to be what they once were. But it is longing, all the same (and Killua has never been good at knowing what he wants). It’s a stupid emotion to feel, Killua thinks. Their parting was a mutual decision and they are better for it. Yet Killua still dreams of a boy who has picked flowers and crushed bone with the same hands. He wakes up in the morning feeling hollow and-- despite everything-- he just wants his best friend back.

He gets a text, so similar to all the others.

_I’ve got my Nen back._

It was so direct, curt almost. (As he’s always been).

_That’s great!_ Killua types, something pooling in his gut that he can’t quite identify. Dread? Hope?

He almost wishes Gon won’t say anything more, but of course, he does. _Come back. Let’s stay together._

Killua puts down his phone, for fear that his fingers will type yes with no hesitation when there is nothing but hesitation in his heart. He decides to sleep, and he dreams of sunlight reflecting off of pools of blood.

Killua wakes up in a cold sweat, _We’re not ready._

The reply comes immediately, despite the fact that it’s four in the morning, where he is. _When will we ever be ready?_

Killua marvels at how Gon still has the ability to send the air out of his lungs with a single sentence.

_I’m sorry._ He types. It is so much more than this conversation alone. It’s an apology that Gon probably doesn’t know he deserves. He thinks that neither of them will stop apologizing for a long time.

_I’m sorry too._ Gon replies after a long period of typing and deleting. Killua can't help but wonder if some blood never washes out. Even so, he wishes for a day when they can both accept the stains.

 

_Relief_

 

_Hey, Killua, come back?_

_Okay._

Relief is what Killua feels when he travels to Whale Island without the anxiety of a timer over his head. It’s what he feels when Gon embraces him on the docks, and what he feels when Mito envelopes all three of them in a tight hug. It’s what he feels when Gon finally admits that they need to talk. Talking is still foreign to them, but that is their own mistake. They try, leaving nothing unturned, from the war to everything after. It’s almost surreal in how therapeutic it is. Perhaps this is what they’d needed all along.

“I’m sorry, Killua.” Gon whispers his name, unsure in a way that he never was before.

“I’m sorry too.” Killua says, a little unnerved. (later on, he’ll realize he was used to hearing his name in Gon’s mouth like it belonged there).

“Tell me you forgive me.” Killua can't tell if it's a demand or a plea. All the same,

“I forgive you.” He says but, even after all these years, he still shies from sincerity. “Idiot!” He adds on with a cackle, flicking Gon in between the eyes.

Gon’s eyes widen at first but then he pouts and rubs his forehead, “Ow, _Killua._ ” He whines.

They laugh and, for a moment, Killua is twelve again, on the very same island, sitting next to the very same boy, completely willing to follow him to the end of the world. So much has changed, and yet so little. The past has hurt but not broken them. He is grateful for that. _We’ll be okay_ , he thinks, relieved.

 

_Love_

 

In a coffee shop, on the first day of December, two young men sit next to each other in a booth made for four. They have identical grins plastered their faces and the outside chill has painted their cheeks red. They are bright, alive, and blind to everything but each other. A stranger looking at them would never guess what pain their memories hold, and how hard they worked to move past them.

Killua is sipping a hot chocolate and staring avidly at Gon, who is telling a story about something-or-other. He’s not really listening, instead choosing to examine the exact curve of Gon’s lips as they move, the bridge of his nose, how his eyes crinkle with the widening of his smile. In his mind, he plays around with a new word. It is a word that has been in the back of his mind ever since he was thirteen, but he’d shoved it away so many times. Now he embraces it, tries to pin it to certain moments, repeats it over and over in his head.

_I love you._

Killua only realizes he’s spoken aloud when Gon abruptly falls silent and whips his head around to gawk at him.

“I--I mean--” He stammers, a blush coating his cheeks that only just regained their normal color.

Gon beams, “ _Killua._ ” He says, almost reverently.

Suddenly, Gon’s lips are pressed against his. And honestly, it was less of a kiss and more of them softly bumping their mouths together. Killua is elated, the sudden rush of euphoria that can only be-- and only is-- associated with Gon. Faintly, he can taste coffee on his friend’s lips (it's bitter but he doesn't mind it as much as he normally would).

Gon eventually pulls away, only to stare at him with a kind of mystified wonder, “I love you, Killua. I love you.”

In a coffee shop, on the first day of December, two young men sit next to each other in a booth made for four. Years ago, they were children who felt they were invincible, who had to find out they were not, who fell into despair at the fact.

But they grew up and, albeit slowly, all wounds heal. Their smiles are real now, their laughs genuine. Against all odds, Killua Zoldyck and Gon Freecs are happy.


End file.
